like the sun swallowed up by the earth
Of course, the first words out of her mouth are I’m sorry. He frowns, but not in displeasure, but a minute sadness that for a moment crosses the otherwise jovial expression on his face. He cannot blame her for her need to apologize (for he too, felt the brush of guilt and uncertainty when Tangerine shared her vision of Wound and the child with him, but it had been fleeting and now has disappeared into nothingness, leaving only joy), so the bay stallion reassures her as she explains herself to him by brushing his the cobalt of his muzzle against the sleekness of her neck, stained with exertion from the birth. He huffs softly, his breath warm against her soft silver skin, hoping that she will wordlessly realize that apologies for bringing him a daughter into the world were out of place.Her voice shakes with her qualms and worries, and the steadiness of his unwavering blue eyes do not leave hers. He listens, all the while inspecting her body with the softest of touches of his mouth, to assure himself nothing had gone wrong during the birth. He brings his face to hers, resting his cheek against her own - an intimate gesture that he would reserve only for those close to his heart - and sighs contentedly, glancing down at the bright auburn of the little filly that curls beneath them, chest rising and falling steadily. “I’m sorry,” he repeats gently, his voice nearly a whisper, “that you spent many moons in worry, when there is nothing to fear.” He pulls from her, eyes large as he takes in her face. “There will never be any reason to fear, Wound. Not while I’m around.” A small smile curls onto the corners of his lips, and he places a heartfelt kiss at the velvet corner of her mouth, sealing his promise.
He lowers his head, wings closing into his sides as he takes a few steps back to investigate the small child at their hooves, running his muzzle across the tiny curve of his daughter’s back. A daughter, he muses to himself, but he is unable to voice his thoughts for the lone howl of a wolf reverberates through the Tephran air, and with a loud snort, the stallion’s head lifts quickly with his ears erect, searching the world around them with roving eyes. It happens quickly - she calls his name just as he realizes that it is Longclaw’s howl that has erupted into the sky, and as the thought brings itself to the forefront of his mind, the glinting eyes of a predator lock with his.
It is fluid and natural how the bay stallion leaps forward over his child and in front of Wound - his sense of flight gone with the threat of a predator so near - lowering his head and flicking his ears against his neck. In the same movement, the grandiose size of his wings become unfurled, blocking both Wound and their daughter from view, as well as creating the illusion that he is much larger than he had previously appeared. Warrick’s eyes roll with adrenaline, going so far as to even take a few steps towards the beast within the shadows, flapping his wings with enough power in hopes to perhaps frighten away whatever lurks.
Tephra is not known for its predators (the forest holds wolves, but a tropical landscape like theirs would not cater to many threats), and he wonders how it is that this is the first time he is coming into contact with a clawed-animal that isn’t a shifter. He does not know if Wound or their child has departed from the scene (oh, he hopes they have), but the bay stallion is too focused on keeping his eyes locked on the predator to dare risk losing focus and allowing it to step any closer to them.
Warrick
@[Longclaw] @[Diorae] @[wound]
Warrick wants to fight de lion. Rrrrr.